


What to Say

by iselsis



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Adoption, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Gets A Hug, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Protective Bruce Wayne, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28952175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iselsis/pseuds/iselsis
Summary: Jason needs a hug, and Bruce needs to talk.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 64
Kudos: 444





	What to Say

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Periazhad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Periazhad/gifts).



There was still blood everywhere. Bruce’s heart thudded painfully in his chest and his throat felt tight even though he knew that the wound hadn’t been fatal and that most of the blood was just because Jason insisted on patching himself up while _bleeding out_ and wouldn’t even let Bruce get him the needle and thread.

“You will stay the night, won’t you?” Bruce finally asked as Jason finally finished stitching the last wound.

Jason glared at him. “No.”

“You’re hurt,” Bruce argued.

Jason scoffed. “It’s a _scratch_.”

“It was nearly _two dozen_.”

“You should have seen the other guy,” Jason said with a lazy shrug.

Jason slid off the side of the bed, landing on the balls of his feet with a suppressed wince that anyone else would have noticed because they weren’t Batman and they weren’t Jason’s _father_.

“Is he dead?”

Jason didn’t look up, but there was the slightest inward curl that reminded Bruce so much of the defensive little boy who’d broken a china plate.

“Jas—”

“He’s going to _wish_ he was dead,” Jason snapped, raising his glowing green eyes at Bruce, “when he tries to move his fucking tailbone because I kicked his _fucking ass_.”

Bruce sighed in relief. “Good.”

Jason snorted derisively. “It’s not like I made a promise or anything.”

Bruce hesitated. There was such a fine line with Jason between the words Jason needed to hear on a moral level, the words he needed to hear on an emotional level, and the words Jason wanted to hear. The truth was, Bruce didn’t always know that he could trust Jason to keep his word. He’d done so well in the past months, but all it took was one slip up, one moment of magical rage because the universe wouldn’t let his fifteen-year-old rest in even the tiniest bit of peace, and someone would never go home to their family. Some mother, some father, would lose like he had lost, and while Bruce knew that most of Jason’s victims had done horrible things, so had Jason, and Jason had turned himself around. There was always a chance, and there was no way he could ever condone taking that person’s chance away, not only from them, but from everyone who loved them.

“You never were the best at keeping your promises,” Bruce said at last.

Jason snatched his jacket off the back of a chair in a flurry of furious motion and tugged it on fiercely, even though that must have hurt. “And what the _fuck_ is that supposed to mean? I’ve kept your rules, Bruce. I’ve stayed out of trouble, I haven’t killed anyone in _months_ —”

“ _One more page_ ,” Bruce said in a high-pitched imitation of Jason’s twelve-year-old voice. “ _I promise._ ”

Jason froze with a slight sway, then gave Bruce a flat look. “Oh, come _on_ , I did _not_ do that that much.”

“Every night. For three years.” A flat look wasn’t walking out, it wasn’t trying to ride a motorcycle with blood loss, and Bruce….he’d forgotten how much he’d liked _teasing_ Jason. “Remember how I used to number the flashlights to make sure I had them all? I still haven’t found where you hid flashlight number six.”

The flat look twitched, and though Jason looked away quickly, it wasn’t fast enough to hide the ghost of a smile on his lips. “I think I took it when I tried to read Steve some of _Pride and Prejudice_.”

Bruce blinked. He honestly hadn’t been expecting a location, or the fact that Jason had apparently managed to sneak novels out of the house in spandex. “Steve, your favorite gargoyle?”

Jason shrugged. “Why not? He liked _Sense and Sensibility_ well enough.”

Bruce couldn’t help a small smile. “I see. You know, that was my favorite flashlight.”

Jason’s smile widened enough that turning his head was no longer enough to hide it. “That’s why I took it so much.”

Bruce scoffed in pretend offense. “Betrayed by my own son.”

And there was the prickly little porcupine he’d cut himself loving for years.

“I’m not your son anymore,” Jason said, softer than he usually spat it.

Bruce was losing him, losing him again, and if he lost Jason this time and let him drive off alone on his motorcycle when he’d lost so much blood, Bruce might never see him alive again. _Again_.

“You think I’d let just anyone get away with stealing my favorite flashlight?” Bruce teased.

Jason’s eyes darted to Bruce, just a flash of confusion. Bruce understood. He’d deviated from their script, but…so had Jason.

Normally, Bruce would have answered _yes, you are_ with some variation of _I’ll always love you_ and _adoption papers can only be undone by court order and not the death of one of the signees._ Jason would have snarled and snapped back something hurtful and cutting, and they both would have argued before storming off in opposite directions.

Maybe this was something Bruce should have done a long time ago. Not just _tell_ Jason that he was his son, but _show_ him, and not in the big, dramatic ways like saving his life or keeping him funded, but in the small, soft ways. Teasing him. Bringing up nostalgic memories. Jason would probably draw the line at being thrown over Bruce’s shoulder and shaken around, especially in his present state, but Bruce smiled at the thought anyway.

Jason narrowed his eyes, more wearily than warily. “What is that smile for?”

Bruce reached out slowly. When Jason didn’t move more than a slight flinch, Bruce reached up and ruffled his hair.

“I’ve missed you, Jason,” Bruce whispered.

Jason batted Bruce’s hand away and turned quickly, but he was still as subtle as he’d ever been digging the heel of his hand into his eyes.

“I’ve been in Gotham for two years,” Jason snapped, his voice thick.

“But you haven’t come home.”

Jason _flinched_. “Home? Last time I was _home_ , I was one wrong move from being kicked back to the streets.”

Bruce felt a chill run down his spine. “What?”

In the early days, when Jason was twelve, and into thirteen, he’d been extremely frightened that he was going to be tossed out for the slightest thing. Breaking a glass would result in frantic begging sobs and at least an hour of reassurances to get him to stop clinging. An argument would lead to missing cans of food and a depleted fruit bowl. A mistake on patrol would lead to silent tears getting caught in the mask all the way home.

But they’d gotten _past_ that, hadn’t they?

Had Jason died—had Bruce gotten his son _killed_ because he’d thought that Jason was better?

“Jay,” Bruce murmured, his eyes watering, “did you think I was going to get rid of you?”

Jason snarled and turned around, any intimidation lost at the sight of Jason’s tear-stained cheeks. “Of _course_ you were going to get rid of me! I was already asking too much just being street trash in your fucking fancy mansion, but then I couldn’t follow orders, and you didn’t _trust_ me—”

Bruce surged forward and grabbed Jason around the shoulders. Jason gasped and got in one good blow to the ribs before he realized what was going on. Jason resisted a moment, then slowly set his forehead on Bruce’s shoulder.

“You didn’t want me,” Jason muttered.

“I _did_ ,” Bruce promised, fighting back tears. “I _do_. I’ll always want you, Jason, no matter what you do or don’t do. I would have loved you if you didn’t want to be Robin, I would have loved you if you’d given up on it. I _still_ love you, Jason. You’re _my son_.”

Jason sniffed hard, and Bruce tightened his grip around his son, his second child with the wayward spirit and broken wings, trying to be mindful of Jason’s injuries, but it was so hard to remember which ones were the wounds in the present and which ones were the ones that had killed his son just before the _last_ time Bruce had held his son.

Jason’s arms inched around Bruce’s chest hesitantly, like they might be denied, but they finally wrapped all the way around him and clung tightly. Bruce’s tears were landing on Jason’s shoulder, and there was a wet spot seeping through Bruce’s shirt.

“I love you, Jason,” Bruce promised in his ear.

Jason gasped down a deep breath through his mouth and managed a couple whimpery syllables before settling on a heartfelt, “Mmhmm.”

Jason stayed upstairs that night.

**Author's Note:**

> Me: okay, write for ten minutes then be done. Probably 300-400 words  
> Other me: forty minutes and ~1400  
> Me: yes


End file.
